die Habsucht
by TotemundTabu
Summary: "He was alone, alone as one can be, beneath a mute nature, in a growing, hostile silence. There was nothing here, nothing but absence and its smell. As he opened his eyes, he was all alone. And he always believed, even if he never admitted it, that this was his destiny." A story about Austria, from everlasting to everlasting.
1. Chapter 1

My intention was to write something comprehensive about the poor Austria, so he's the main character, from everlasting to everlasting.

The title means "greed" in german.

Dedicated to K. Thanks to Alice, George. Beta-readed by Anactolica.

**die Habsucht **

1. Your first love, they say, you never forget.

As he opened his eyes, he was all alone.

Nothing around.

Nobody in the whole valley.

He was alone, alone as one can be, beneath a mute nature, in a growing, hostile silence. There was nothing here, nothing but absence and its smell.

As he opened his eyes, he was all alone.

And he always believed, even if he never admitted it, that this was his destiny.

He never meant to rule anything; to be honest, he would have been satisfied just with a simple, naïve, guileless life - a sort of spotless fondness.

The foliage was dark, like the colour of wet earth after rain, and the grass seemed so sharp and prickly on his soft child skin.

Rapidly he glanced all around and found out his loneliness was much deeper than he could bear. There was nobody. Everywhere was so empty and silent.

"...Hello?" he murmured. "Hello?"

He got up. His legs were too weak and thin to walk properly, so he had to limp, like a wounded animal hoping not to be hunted. His feet were bare, like his heart, so unaware of the things to come.

He muttered again, "Is anybody there ?"

The biting cold wind replied to him with a low, deep sigh and, after that, just the silence - silence again - ruling over that nameless place. He realised he was nameless too, because you need somebody to give you a name.

...And also, owning a name does not make a lot of sense if you have no need to be called.

But he had been born, right? So, somehow, for a certain, unknown reason, he must have been wanted.

Then why was nobody there?

He walked miles, dirtying his soles. Every time he stumbled or trip over a rock, he hoped for somebody to come and help him, to lend a helping hand. But nobody did. He grew resigned. After hours spent uselessly calling, his voice became weary and strained, raucous. He fell again in a dark, wet, muddy puddle.

And this time, he didn't resist.

He burst into tears, with his nose muddy and his breathing stinging his throat. Why did he have a mouth - why did he have a voice? - if he was not supposed to talk to anyone? Why have ears if you can only listen to the sound of silence? He stayed crumpled in the mud, unwilling to rise again.

"Are you a pig?"

He raised his eyes, finding a... someone like him he guessed, glaring at him. He was blonde, like sunlight and his eyes were a quiet, deep, emerald green. He seemed so soft and warm, even with his threatening expression.

He reached out.

Not to be helped.

Just to touch him.

"...Real?"

"What the hell do you mean?" he glared. "You are not an animal. C'mon, get up."

"...My legs hurt," he whispered, biting his lip.

The sunshine boy looked at him, crouching down on his knees. He seemed to study him, like he was unsure whether to do something or just leave him alone. Again. He took a few seconds to react, then mumbled with his rich but limpid voice.

"I am Schweiz. What's your name?"

"...Do I have to have one?"

"Everybody does."

He lowered his eyes with a sigh. "No one has ever called for me."

Schweiz seemed confused. Then he took the little boy's hand and helped him up. While he was brushing the dust from his clothing, the blonde stood up.

"Where do you come from?" he asked.

The kid pointed with his forefinger to the east, showing the big valley he was born in. He seemed almost mute and his expression was still a bit blank.

"East, hmm?" Schweiz muttered, then snapped his fingers. "Österreich!"

"Eh?"

"Österreich. It's your name."

The boy tilted his head to the right, perplexed.

"Why have you named me?"

"You are indeed dense," he muttered again. "How can I call you if I don't know what name to use?"

Österreich smiled. A big, shining smile.

He grabbed Schweiz, hugging him with his little arms, no longer empty, no longer alone.

"Hey! You're covering me with mud, you dope!"

_Österreich_ was his name.

_Österreich_. East realm.

_Österreich_ indicated a west.

_Österreich _ implied somebody else.

_Österreich_ meant, to him, not being alone anymore.

Finally getting rid of him, Schweiz sighed. Then he looked at the boy's face.

"Bleargh! Snot! Clean it!"

Schweiz took a handkerchief from his pocket, so white and soft, and cleaned Österreich's nose. It felt strange at first. Schweiz was much stronger than him, almost overwhelming. But then, even though he was still annoyed, Österreich felt something warm melting in his chest. Schweiz was taking care of him.

Dearly.

"Gosh, you're such a whiny thing!" Schweiz complained. Österreich held his hand.

"You have such nice colours..." he said. "I am happy the first person I met is so beautiful!"

Schweiz blushed a little and his glare increased in ferocity, but his grip on the child's hand became stronger.

"Let's go home, whiny thing."

Österreich widened his eyes. "Listen, Schweiz..."

"What?"  
"...Is my hair also like the sun? And my eyes? Are they so big and green and shiny like yours?"

He piled him with questions and the little boy felt so overpowered that he managed only to stutter an awkward, uneasy reply.

"...No, well -" He saw Österreich's face become disappointed. "Your hair is... dark brown."

"Like mud." His voice was frustrated and dull.

Schweiz shouted with embarassment, "Well, without mud you can't have flowers."

"So is mud a good thing?"

"Sure," he said confidently, like it was an oath. "And the green leaves of a tree need a brown trunk too."

Österreich goggled and his violet eyes seemed suddenly as big as the moon.

"So, can I be your trunk?"

Schweiz seemed nonplussed, then murmured, "I am pretty sure it will be quite the reverse, whiny thing."

Österreich laughed for the first time in his whole life.

Surely Schweiz was right: he was so baffled and disoriented, it would have been impossible for him to prop up somebody else, but he was also damn sure that one day, sooner or later, he would be stronger. And, he swore, his strength would have been Schweiz's trunk.

He held him tightly.

* * *

Schweiz lost his temper. Again.

"You are the clumsiest thing ever existed on earth, Österreich!" He paused. "It's the forty-fifth time you've been hammered by Hungary!"

Österreich stumbled over his words. "She's too strong, big brother..."

"Then stop fighting duels against her until you are good enough," he protested.

"But I want you to be proud of me!"

Schweiz was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Again.

"How could I be proud of you if you won't still be in one piece?"

Österreich burst out laughing, with that stupidly gleaming smile and those shining captivating eyes. Schweiz seriously confessed to himself his devouring wish to shut him up with a kiss.

Possessiveness.

An insatiable possessiveness.

It was not caused by a single moment of poignancy. No, it was continuous wishful thinking, crazing his mind. He forced himself silent.

Österreich was pure and innocent in his own way, and he would have never understood what Schweiz wanted from him... To be honest, neither did Schweiz. He was so fed up with helping him, so sick of carrying him on his shoulders and so tired of worring about him; but he never ever thought to leave him behind, simply because Österreich was much more important than his own patience and he was worth every mental suffering he provoked.

"Since you always give me a piggyback, I don't even mind being beaten!"

"You are nerve-racking..."

Österreich embraced him stonger and Schweiz felt his heart wringing and his lungs smothering.

"...Eh, Schweiz?"

"What?" he gasped.

Österreich spoke in a low voice, amused and still ashamed, almost resigned to his own weakness.

"It's the forty-eighth time..."

"...Really nerve-racking."

Österreich leant his head on Schweiz's neck, breathing in his delicate edelweiss scent. He was not able to stifle a smile at the thought that that smell belonged to both of them, like a bond holding them together.

"Schweiz..."

"What?"

"Hungary is so sweet..."

Schweiz shivered, "The one who punches you in the stomach ten times per week?"

Österreich nodded, a tender smile arising on his mouth and a soft blush, that the blonde friend couldn't see, but imagined very clearly.

Schweiz choked back a sob.

"You are sort of a masochist, aren't you?"

"She resembles you a lot..." he muttered softly. "You are both sweet but with a rough surface."

"I am not like that at all!"

Almost screaming, Schweiz let him fall from his back. Österreich rubbed his bottom, aching from the knock.

"Don't be mean!"

"You are so... unfair!"

Österreich felt his little heart skip a beat, but not for a good reason.

He stuttered, "Why? I said you are sweet. I never meant to offend you, broth..."

"I am not your brother," he cut him short.

He was not his brother.

He was not anything like that.

No bonds. Nothing. They were separate entities.

Never fused together.

Never one thing.

Never melted.

Same fragrance, same hands, same language. Maybe, Schweiz had to admit it, they were more like brothers than anything else - but he didn't feel about him that way, not a single bit, not on his life.

Your first love, they say, you never forget.

The first cut, they say, is the deepest.

Maybe that was the reason for his rage and his suddenly desire to hurt Österreich, as he had unintentionally done. Maybe being the only one with a such a deep cut was simply too much.

Österreich got up, a miserable look upon his round and soft face. His mouth trembled.

"To me, you are."

"I just found you on my way one day," Schweiz glared. "You are just a burden to me. I'm always saving you, like I'm your knight or something like that. You should learn how to survive alone."

Österreich didn't say a thing, since at that time the issue was serious as it could be, as he never remembered once before. He barely recalled the time before meeting Schweiz and neither was it possible for him to imagine a life without him. But he was always aware that his weakness turned a healthy bond into sort of a military dependence. It wasn't his intention.

For the first time, he learned that intentions do not change a thing.

You can build the road to hell with good intentions.

"Next time, I will win."

"So you say again and again..."

* * *

Österreich had always loved deers.

They were so elegant and full of grace, walking in beauty. They were not silent, and yet not noisy - they made quiet, shy sounds, like rain falling from clouds. Their graceful weightless attitude always made him feel as if there was something he still hadn't discovered in the world, a sort of arcane mystery he still wasn't able to unravel.

He always felt like he was blind, walking in a thick fog. Nothing was clear, his brain was nothing but a demagnetized compass.

The wild deer came closer, and the young boy backed off a few steps as it bellowed. Then it bended its elegant muzzle to the right, its dark chocolate eyes wide with curiosity, as if it was thinking: 'What are you?'

Österreich felt an icy, deep shiver run down his back.

He reached out, touching the big black nose, a little clammy, then the soft hair. The deer rubbed itself against his little hand.

Österreich smiled timidly.

"You sure are so elegant... Your moves are so fluent..." he whispered. "I'd like to be like you, you know? I am so lumpish and insignificant."

The deer lifted his eyes and licked Österreich's fingers. Its tongue was so warm and big that Österreich was afraid the animal would eat him. He found it hard to remember that deers were herbivores. "...I'd like to be more than myself."

He sat on the wet ground, leaning against a trunk, his light-coloured eyes flying through the green leaves the wind was playing with.

The light breeze produced an hushed sound, then Österreich heard a far river gurgling and he felt like the two sounds melded, producing something new. Like a melody.

He felt relieved.

He felt good.

The deer bellowed again with a deep - but no longer scary - voice, as if he wanted to lead that strange... _music_. Yes, Österreich guessed, that was the word.

He lost himself in the heart-warming unorthodox symphony.

It was so peaceful and a sense of completeness bound his little chest, as he closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh spring air. His lungs seemed to turn infinite and full of all the scents in the woods.

There were no limits, no border.

It sounded foolish when thought by a country, but Österreich couldn't care less, because that was his first time feeling big. His first time feeling great.

Even if it wasn't for a fight or a war, even if there were no brave actions or epic duels. Just that vague music in his head and himself: that was enough. Felt good.

Then something woke up in a corner of his mind.

He apologized to the deer and suddenly rushed away, running up a hill, in the trees, splashed through the river and then found a little town. The half-timbered buildings rose like little mountains. _Fachwerkhäuser_ they were called. The streets were full of carnival people: merchants, horse dealers, fruit sellers... Some vivacious children were surrounding an old wood carver, asking him to give away some wooden toys to them. Their mothers were laughing, eating some warm bread they had bought from the baker, so feminine and graceful. A girl ran through the crowd yelling, "Tobias, give me back my doll! Give it back!" but the boy she was screaming to was much faster.

He blew a raspberry and said, "Forget it, whiner!"

_Whiner_...

Schweiz used to call him the same thing.

He felt both hurt and frustrated, without knowing why.

Then his eyes found what he was searching for: the Luthier workshop.

The house was little and humid, the wooden floor creaky, the glass windows seeming opaque because of the dirt and the dust. The sun entered with difficulty.

An old man sussurred, "How can I help you?"

Österreich winced.

"You can see me?"

The lutist seemed amused, a thin smile painting itself on his old face, grey because of his age.

"Well, some men can."

"Which ones?" Österreich felt relieved. He felt so alone, but maybe, there was the possibility his people would...

"I couldn't say," the lutist admitted sadly. "I guess it depends on your nature which people you are closer to."

"...Oh. I suppose so."

The old lutist nodded. His breath was short, tired - he seemed to labour to do it. But it was he who Österreich was seeking.

"What should I call you?" he asked politely, with that low, wrinkled voice. "_Volksgeist_?"

"Österreich would be fine."

"So... how may I help you, Österreich?"

The boy swallowed, nervous, while his eyes still wandered around the workshop, searching for _that_ thing he was looking for.

"...I would... like..." he stuttered, "...a vielle... or a rebec."

The lutist smiled and dropped a hint to follow him in to the back of the shop. He really seemed enjoying himself, like he was dealing with the caprices of a normal child.

"I am sure someday you'll find something better than these old instruments."

"...Maybe."

"Why not?"

"I don't even know if I am good at playing."

"You surely are," he vouched, and that sounded like a promise, "because you really want to. If you desire something with all your being, there's no way you'll fail."

Österreich was everything but persuaded.

"What's with that expression?!" the old craftsman laughed loudly. "Oh, my god! Surely, you are precious!"

And he raised a smile.

Österreich replied gently, "I would like to be good at least in this."

"At least?"

"There is not really something I am inclined towards," he admitted with a soft sigh.

The old man gave him both of the instruments and, looking straight into his little wisteria purple eyes, he said some words Österreich never forgot. In these few words there were something so true about him, he felt like he was summed up in that synthetic declaration.

"If you don't know what you are good at, you don't know who you are."

Österreich lowered his head and muttered, "Probably I am not so worth knowing at all."

"I don't think so," the old man whispered, trying to comfort him. "Once I had a daughter - she was really a good painter, you know? - and she used to feel useless and a failure."

"She doesn't paint anymore?"

"...She's dead."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"...It's not your fault, so why are you apologising?" Österreich didn't know. He just thought he had never known what being dead meant, at all.

The lutist saved him from awkwardness. "What I wanted to tell you is that... if you feel the urge to express what you feel in such a particular way, surely you have a lot inside you, don't you? And there's no way such a complex being may be worthless."

Österreich felt something salty-tasting on his lips.

All he knew was that flavour he didn't like it at all.

It reminded him of the days when he was all alone.

When he was not _Österreich_, not east, for no one at all.

He gripped the stringed instruments to his chest, trying to clutch at the idea of all the music they had inside.

Sounds were the promise something more existed.


	2. Chapter 2

**2. Here comes the king of second chances**

There he was. Alone, again.  
He wasn't able to explain how it had all erupted: it just happened.  
Day by day, Österreich did become stronger. After the federal charter of 1291, everything fell apart dramatically and it was impossible for either of them to remember what there was before. But still, even if the facts seemed unchangeable and everything irreparably broken, Österreich was not ready to lose Schweiz.  
Schweiz wasn't simply his friend.  
Nor simply his brother.  
Schweiz was his first. The first to find him, the first to take care of him, the first helping hand. Schweiz was unbearably stubborn with all his nonsenses about freedom, liberty and privileges, acting like Österreich's intention was to be his owner or something like that. His will, his only will was to protect him and in order to do that Schweiz had to become part of his realm: it was so obvious, why did he keep refusing? He felt so... misunderstood. Österreich breathed heavily.  
"You seem concerned, _querido_."  
Österreich turned and came face-to-face with that stupidly happy Spanish expression. He was staring at him with an amused attitude, like there was something incredibly funny in his anxiety.  
"I've told you a million times, don't call me that," he hissed.  
Spain didn't seem intimidated at all. On the contrary he had a sharp mocking grin on his lips.  
"And I've told you a million times you look better without those glasses," he winked. "Why do you want to be a four eyes?"  
Österreich ignored his jibe, instead protesting, "That is not my language. I won't accept you treating me like I'm one of your estates!" Spain looked suddenly irritated, and his dark smile widened. He held Österreich's chin with two fingers and forced him look straight into his eyes. Österreich tried to growl but Spain didn't look away.  
"You didn't act differently with Schweiz, did you?" he grinned. Österreich shivered.  
"That's different!" he objected, separating himself with a jerk of his arm.  
"...Because you love him?" Derisive. Almost cruel in his frankness. "You will be mine."  
"Pfft! It's ridiculous," he whispered. "Joanna is not the heir to your throne. Even if she married Philip that does not mean..."  
Spain interrupted him with a soft, unexpectedly tender kiss on the lips. He tried not to get carried away, tightening his mouth, stiffening all his muscles so as to not to let the Spanish tongue enter. The tanned hands gripped Österreich's wrists until he felt a vague pain. He felt weak, trapped. He was strong, a strong country, then why? He closed his eyes, feeling all his strength sucked away.  
When Spain managed to deepen the kiss, Österreich clenched his fists and bit the intrusive tongue. It immediately beat a retreat like a wounded snake. Österreich panted, furious and humiliated. But not as much as Spain was.  
"I swear, _querido_, you'll regret this."  
"You're becoming savage, just like your new stupid possessions," he hissed again. Spain laughed bleakly.  
"Alexander VI granted me the ownership of every land I find in the future. I can only become stronger and stronger. While you... you are not even a real realm, still bonded to that kid and some useless lands." He leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "You are Utopia's corpse. And I'll never be yours again." Österreich let out a gasp. It was not like that. He swore to himself, long ago, he would become stronger and stronger each day.  
In order to protect Schweiz.  
To protect Hungary.  
He swore he would never be a burden to anybody and he would never be alone again.  
"Those two might be married, Spain, but I don't belong to you. My empire, my entire existence... you won't have it."  
Spain raised an eyebrow, perplexed. "You are brave for such a puny little thing."  
"Don't underestimate me."  
"Or you'll kill me?"  
"I'll make a _castrato_ out of you." Spain blinked, surprised, then whistled.  
"You've got balls. I like that."  
Österreich felt both embarrassed and pleased without knowing exactly why. He didn't dare ask himself. He wouldn't deny that Spain's attitude and behaviour, so different from his, were somehow magnetising. Even though it would have been simpler, it was impossible for Österreich to hate Spain and he didn't even know why. He always felt overwhelmed by that ridiculous smile. Spain bent over him once more and this time Österreich didn't stop him. He felt only a strange, burning malaise: he had the distinct sensation of flames languishing in his veins. The white silk settee seemed to suddenly scorch his skin. He panted, his breath broken by fears and doubts. Why was the green of Spain's irises so vivid?  
He felt undone.  
Spain kissed his neck, without a single sound.  
Was it in his blood to betray the ones he loved? Was it inevitable? Did being a Volksgeist demolish his free will?  
"I won't hurt you." Spain made it sound like a promise.  
"Don't treat me like a spoiled slut of yours."  
"Hmm?"  
"I am just one of your tool, aren't I?" Österreich smiled briefly in that sardonic way he always used to protect himself. "A mere instrument," he paused again and swallowed, "It's good for me, but don't you ever dare try to take over me."  
"So what is this?" Spain chortled. "A path of mutual exploitation ?"  
"Isn't that the nature of a marriage?"  
Spain smiled and resumed kissing him softly, captivating him. It seemed like he wanted to eat Österreich, sucking his mouth.  
"Beware, I may really fall in love with you.", whispered Spain.  
"I can hardly wait."  
"What's this unexpected sensual pitch?"  
Österreich lowered his eyes and his face seemed to darken. A strange mix of reluctance and shame rose in his chest, while he still stubbornly tried to be in charge of that sick game. The umpteenth little game... Spain didn't seem to notice, merely smirking.  
"It's okay... I have a thing for fiery temper." His lips were silky and beastly at the same time, stealing his breath. Österreich felt like his whole body was just a flammable parchment thrown in the flames. As he closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was the amber pendant around Spain's neck. He wondered if it was true that amber had the power to chase away nightmares.  
His nightmares were green.  
Deep, emerald green.

* * *

"You always look so dog-tired," Spain pointed out. "Are you sleeping properly?"  
"As if I could," Österreich replied curtly.  
"It's not cute on you." Spain bit his neck, sinking his teeth into the tender, warm flesh of his husband. Österreich's soft hair fell onto his shoulders, while a sharp shiver made him tense his muscles. His shoulder blades contracted.  
"Quit it," he whispered.  
"Why?"  
"Why don't you just go back to your Italian tart?"  
A slap.  
The real wound was on his pride. Like every damn time Romano appeared in their conversations.  
"Why don't you just go back to your Swiss? Oh yeah. He hates you."  
Or Switzerland.  
"That's enough." Österreich tried to leave, but Spain grabbed his arm.  
Amber didn't take away the nightmares.  
Amber intensified them.  
Amber just provided a new nightmare.  
The forest green of Spain's eyes was just too different from Vash's to satisfy Österreich.  
But the forest green of Spain's eyes was just too similar to Vash's to let Österreich forget.  
He tried to love him, he swore. They also had some really good times, with that huge, humongous empire.  
"_Plus Ultra_," they said, but there was nothing worth fighting for.  
"The empire on which the sun never sets," but inside Österreich could only taste the dark.  
The nights of pleasure, the thrills, the power were just diversions. They were not unlike reading a book all night just to ignore the burden of losing rest. They were the most powerful country in the world. Charles V was the ruler of half of the globe but yet still... They were simply unhappy.  
The wedding night, neither of them would ever forget. Österreich did it: he called out "Schweiz" with his trembling voice, dirty with pleasure. He really did do it. But Spain limited himself to smiling, with that - that damn - mocking smile. Then he said derisively, "Oh, _querido_, it's not cute to cry for someone else during sex."  
Nothing more.  
No jealousy.  
The country of passion was not jealous. The simple truth was he just didn't care. The only ones he cared for were the two Italian siblings, mostly the elder Romano. Spain was always so sweet and kind to the children that Österreich actually found himself thinking of him as a 'good father' for them.  
Bah, humbug!  
Ridiculous humbug.  
As if they were a family.  
As if they could ever be something. They were so different that even speaking daily was a big deal. Spain was the sea, Österreich was the earth. Österreich was afraid of the sea. Spain had always found the earth boring. They weren't even close: France was always between them.  
Where was the sense in their marriage?  
Oh yes, the power.  
The damn power.  
Österreich was tired of the goose chase for power.  
He was tired of the power-hungry world. He felt like his intentions had always been misunderstood: he just wanted to be... not alone. And the only way not to lose others, he thought, was to be so strong they found protection in you until they depended on it. But then, here he was again. Alone.  
Married and alone.  
Spain drew Österreich into his arms, piercing Österreich's violet eyes with his own, the Austrian face between his fingers, with the mouth tight in a rigid grip.  
"You went too far this time."  
"Let me go," he ordered.  
"You are way too cute to give me orders, Österreich."  
He screamed, wriggling free, "You don't even care if I hate you, do you?"  
"Should I?"  
Cold and sharp.  
The warmest country of Europe was so cold to him. The simple truth was that he just wasn't enough, was he?  
So simple it sounded pathetic.  
And sad.  
And stupid.  
Spain kissed him, biting his lips while making room for his tongue. Österreich had to struggle to breathe, but he didn't seem to mind. There were times, bitter times, where he didn't care anymore. All his pride would never lead him anywhere and besides, he wasn't good at telling lies. He didn't love Spain, but neither did he hate him. He was attracted by the idea of a person completely different from himself... and there was probably also a deep aphrodisiac in the idea of not being loved.  
It was a perfect equilibrium of contempt and sex.  
They didn't need each other and in all honesty Österreich knew it was not going to last. Österreich swallowed again. Spain aimed at his breeches, provoking Österreich, sucking the warm spot where his neck merged into his shoulders. Shivers and moans were climbing the air.  
"Where's the sense in this?"  
He barely realised he'd actually said it. Spain stopped, regarding him with bafflement.  
"...I'm sure that 'sense' itself is the point in having sex."  
He felt a snare sawing his stomach. "You imagine Romano, don't you?" Spain didn't answer, it was not necessary. "And," Österreich continued, "we both know I don't think about you."  
Not a bit. Yes, it did feel good, but there was a chasm between good and perfect.  
Between satisfaction and happiness.  
Between...  
"Then what?" Spain avoided Österreich's look.  
Giving up their union would be foolish and useless.  
"But..." Österreich lowered his eyes and finally Spain was able to look at him again. At least at his chin. "We both know we are just greedy."  
"Greedy?"  
"We rule half the world and we still want the only thing we will never have." The king of conquistadors trembled. Being laid perfectly bare by that boy felt so discouraging... Österreich's hand caressed his cheek and Spain felt cold.  
Sea and mountain, after all.  
"When Charles dies, let's halve the realm."  
"That's ridiculous, why should we...?!"  
"I didn't say to separate the family," he carried on. "The Hapsburg pincer will survive. I don't really want to have problems with France and to be completely honest England is starting to piss me off."  
"Did I ever say you arouse me when you're so blunt?"  
"...You only do so when you hold your tongue."  
"You are always so composed, even when you insult me," Spain smirked and kissed him again. "No wonder Charles is like that."  
With a slow but not completely unwittingly sensual blink, Österreich let his lips open in a small, slender smile.  
"Maybe, but to me he's exactly like his mother."  
Spain bit his bottom lip until a big, swollen drop of blood came out.  
"To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I'll find hard to stay away from your heavenly..."  
"...Shut up."  
That night, he allowed himself to feel him.  
That night, Spain said his name and Österreich did the same.  
This was love, somehow. A sort of half-hearted edition of the emotion they were supposed to feel.  
But for a night, after sex, they fell asleep with a smile on their faces, a satisfied grin, and the sensation of their lungs working again.  
No aftertaste, no name of somebody else left on the tongue.  
Only the the two of them.  
Even if it wasn't love, it was worth-living.

* * *

Spain smiled, "Repeat with me, Romano. _Yo-te-qui-e-ro_."  
The kid gave him an irreverent glare. "No way, _figlio di puttana_."  
"_Hijo de puta_," he said, smiling, but Romano's expression didn't change.  
"You should give up, I'm afraid."  
Spain turned to see if it was real. Yes, he was right. But he would have recognised that voice everywhere, even after so many years. Österreich stood there, the youngest Italian brother near his knee, with an aristocratic bored expression, trying to crack a smile. The littlest Italian rushed to hug his brother, who seemed so embarrassed he started screaming to leave him alone. But Veneziano was not the type who gave up easily the ones he loves. Österreich winked and Spain decided to leave the two kids alone for a moment.  
"It's so rare for them to be together," the Austrian added.  
They headed outside onto the balcony that overlooked the blooming Giardino all'italiana. Flowers of so many colours that Österreich was not sure they even existed shone under the lazy sunlight. The white marble of the balcony made him shiver, even if the Spanish spring was full of a tender warmth.  
"What's the reason behind your visit?"  
Österreich gave a sigh. "Nothing special. I was just..."  
"Did you feel lonely?"  
Österreich blinked, surprised. Once, Spain would have used a sarcastic, almost cruel tone, accompanied by a mocking smile. Then his hand would have... Not that he really wanted that. Now his expression was kind and worried, almost naive.  
He'd changed.  
Spain tilted his head to the left. "What's up?"  
He didn't even notice.  
"Mmph. Romano really brings out the good in you." His eyes became larger, confused. He seemed embarrassed.  
Embarrassed? The conquistadors state?  
"...Do you think so? He's really a little demon, somehow."  
"That's why I kept Veneziano."  
"What?" he shouted, then calmed down and started to look at the garden. "...Thank you."  
Österreich was confused. "I always knew you liked him. Why should I have kept him for myself?"  
"Also the Flanders."  
He snorted, crossing his arms with annoyance. "I don't think I want these two around my house, to be honest."  
Spain laughed.  
A lot.  
Until his stomach ached and Österreich was seriously considering throwing him off the balcony. Then he stopped and stared at him with a large, sweet smile.  
"You are the worst liar ever."  
Österreich started.  
"I was just..."  
"Looking down on me?"  
"Somehow."  
Österreich was staring at the sky, the blue Spanish sky. Even if it was the same one that he could have watched from his home, it seemed quite different. He couldn't say what the difference was. He just felt like something was missing in the landscape.  
"You are not that different from Switzerland, do you know?"  
"Two penny-pinchers."  
"Not what I meant, but also true."  
Österreich tried to assume his cold and matured appearance appearance, but another question stopped him, plying him.  
"Do you still miss him?"  
"...I don't know if I'll ever be able to not."  
It was not his habit to say the truth. He was not a big liar. He merely had the tendency to omit things or give vague answers. To tell the complete truth about his emotions was not something he was used to.  
It was tiring.  
It was exhausting.  
"Why don't you simply try to talk with him again?"  
"Being surrounded by children and idiots has made you lose your contact with reality," he said frankly. "He hates me. And I'm not the type to force others to love him."  
"Neither are you the type who leaves things undone."  
"...Holy Rome is... gone."  
Spain shuddered and darted a glance at him.  
"What?"  
Österreich nodded. "That's why I brought Veneziano here," he confessed. "She's been crying for days and I..."  
"...I hate it when a child cries."  
It was the right answer.  
"I just thought meeting her brother would make her feel better," Österreich denied.  
Spain's expression was strangely sad. "Those two..." His green eyes seemed darker. "They really loved each other, I guess."  
"I'm not sure if we actually can love."  
"Liar." Spain sat on the floor, leaning the back on the balustrade. Österreich kept looking at the sky.  
"I really think we were unfortunate, you know?"  
"Why do you say so?"  
Spain had a bitter taste in his mouth. "I could have loved you. And you could have loved me."  
"But we both..."  
"I know," he cut in. "I only say it would have been easier. And wiser."  
"May I point out that even when you were different you haven't been wise for even ten seconds?"  
"_Maricòn_..."  
Österreich raised his eyebrow. "I understand Spanish, remember?"  
"What? You always refused to speak it. Always saying 'It's not my language, mpft pft you idiot'!" he said, decorating the phrase with an imitation that Österreich wouldn't admit to but actually found pretty funny.  
"You were the formal husband of the Empire. It was your duty to learn German."  
"Don't talk about duties, mister. I should control the taxes but I prefer playing piano."  
Österreich acknowledged the point and smiled. "Maybe you are right. I am not good at being kind to people."  
"I don't know many people as well-mannered as you."  
"Kindness is not a thing cold people can show."  
Spain took Österreich's hands in his and looked straight into his eyes. Österreich shivered: Spain really had changed.  
He was completely different.  
"I don't see anyone cold here."  
Österreich snorted again, feeling awkward. "You really should look bett-"  
Spain lips, against his. Again.  
It was strange, because it felt sweet and yet bitter at the same time.  
Spain held his waist, pulling him closer and Österreich felt like a stupid girl when his legs trembled, weakening.  
It would have been wiser.  
It would have been better.  
It would have been more, and maybe together they would have really forgotten.  
Why waste such a good chance?  
Why were they so nailed to their sadness instead of searching for a bit of true love inside their hearts?  
Spain murmured something on the edge of Österreich's lips. He almost didn't hear it. He nodded.  
"_Yo también_."  
"What will you do now?"  
"I don't know..." he said, exhaling sharply. "I'll try my best I guess."  
Spain tried to take the glasses from Österreich's face but he sneaked backwards. "Why you keep something you don't need?"  
"Aren't those the only things we are able to keep?"  
The wind blew sadly. The trees seemed to shiver in the sky that was rapidly becoming a warm orange pink. The first star of the evening rose and the silence grew stronger. Spain was different, it was true. But Österreich felt things were no longer the same. He had a resigned tendency to loneliness after so many years. He was sure that he would not be able to find anything worth believing in.  
Even being stronger didn't work.  
Spain slapped him on the back. "C'mon, stay here for the night. It'll be dark soon."  
Österreich agreed, "Mostly because of these two. I don't feel like separating them again."  
"Do you mean you're thinking of..."  
"Don't be silly," he cut him short. "But a night together once in a while isn't bad, I guess."  
Spain smiled. "Would you like to play the Spinet for us tonight?"  
The sun had started to drown in the horizon when they heard the faraway voices of the two children quarrelling. Österreich felt nostalgic.  
Then just before he was about to shout to Veneziano to stop crying, he remembered something.  
Someone else.  
Someone else ordering him to stop snivelling.


	3. Chapter 3

**3. And third, by experience, which is the most bitter**

The sharp cold was pricking his back and the chilly wind took in the carriage a clear smell of ice.  
In effect, deciding to travel to Poland in February was not the best idea Österreich had in his centuries of life; but he didn't felt like waiting for the spring. Even May in Poland was cold and, moreover, he felt the urge to run away from Vienna.  
He left the little Veneziano at home with Holy Roman and he really hope everything would have been intact at the time of his return, but he was not so sure. Veneziano was really goofy sometimes.  
A bitter pain crossed his head, when the horses started to neigh.  
"Not a migraine, again...", he plead.  
Another strong noise and then the horses stopped. Österreich leapt up and, with disappointment and annoyance, came off from the coach.  
His eyes were catched by a silver spot in the snowy mountain landscape.  
Apparently, a man, dressed in a big, heavy, almost anachronistic coat of silver chain mail. He was wearing a long mantle with an hood, so it was barely impossible for Österreich to see him straight in the face.  
He was in the middle of the road, on a light grey Malopolski, with the sword unsheathed and an menacing look.  
"Who are you?"  
Österreich shivered, blinked and then got near to the stranger.  
That man backed off, confused, while his horse gave a neigh.  
"Can you see me?"  
He didn't seem to understand.  
Österreich approached.  
The stranger has the most particular colours Österreich ever saw in a man: his hair was such a light nuance of blonde they seemed white and his eyes were crimson, warm, red. His skin was so pale too, he seemed almost fragile, even if his aggressive attitude and the sowrd seemed to tell another story.  
He seemed der Erlkonig- a fairytale.  
Österreich felt charmed, captivated, bewitched.  
The stranger seemed struck to by Österreich's loss of prudence.  
"Naturally, I can. - he grinned - There are vey a few things in the world I'm not able to do."  
"Should I be impressed?"  
A proud sneer.  
Österreich was doubtful, anyway. Who, or What, was that man?  
He couldn't certainly be a nation, since he knew, the only one there were Poland and... well, forgetting Poland was impossible. So he thought he must be an human, even if it was the first time he talked to one who was neither a king nor an artist. It seemed like those were the only persons able to see him.  
"What's your name, dandy?"  
Österreich shivered.  
He tried to hide the panick and his mouth unpicked the first name he was able to think about.  
"Roderich."  
The man seemed perplexed, but didn't say anything.  
Österreich swallowed a nervous breath, "And yours is...?"  
He hesitated.  
"Gilbert. - he replied - Gilbert Beilschmidt."  
"Nice to meet you", said Österreich softly.  
Gilbert turned, facing backwards, hiding an awkward expression, "The pleasure is all yours."  
"Are you always so gallant?"  
Österreich was not sure if he meant to be sarcastic or not, neither did Gilbert, but, somehow, he found that ill-mannered human boy funny. He seemed like a savage animal, dangerous and still terribly fascinating.  
"Well, Gilbert Beilschmidt, who are you?"  
"A knight. - his voice displayed a strong pride. - And you, mister Roderich? You don't look like a Pole."  
"I... I came here to see a friend in Warsaw."  
Gilbert gave him a curious glare, "Are you from... ?"  
"Vienna."  
"Vienna. - he repeated, tasting the sound in his sharp teeth - I see."  
Österreich took a few steps and, when he was near to the grey horse, he caressed it. Gilbert looked at him with a pinch of suspect.  
"Schnee does not like strangers, generally."  
Österreich smiled at the animal, who seemed calmer than his owner.  
"Malopolski are a quite breed. - he commented, almost absent-mindedly - Schnee is a nice name, even if she's not white."  
"My boss said it was stupid to call her like that."  
"You boss should learn to shut up."  
Gilbert laughed, "Oh, you can't imagine how much he should!"  
Österreich smiled.  
He liked humans.  
Even if they were weaker than them, even if they were more prone to sin, their hearts were pure. And full of love.  
They were like him, somehow, always searching for something more. For a music that may help them to understand the meaning of it all.  
"Do you have many horses in Vienna?"  
"Some Lipizzaner."  
"Do you ride often?"  
Österreich raised a shy smile, still looking and touching the soft mane of the horse.  
"Not us much as I'd like to, I must confess... but when in the dark nights, when the moon seems so big you think you may be able totouch it, I like to go across the woods and..."  
And reach the west border.  
"Oh, I'm sorry, I am not so loquacious... tendentially."  
Gilbert blinked. He had to admit that he was curious to know how he was like.  
He lowered his look, hiding his face from Österreich's.  
"Warsaw is still far. Come with me, I'll take you in a good inn.  
"Oh, but... my carriage..."  
"In Krakow, we'll find a are not expensive. Then I'll escort you."  
Österreich buckled under with reluctance. Even if he was surely interested in spending some more time with that man, he was still not sure if it would have been a wise choice. He felt small, incredibly small, almost human-sized, near to that knight.  
Gilbert.  
A strange name. It could have meant both "a bright promise, bud" and "a noble hostage".  
It was ambiguous.  
And he was mesmerized.

* * *

The wood floor smelled like smoke and the walls were bitterly cold. In the room a strong beer aroma filled everything. Österreich was griping his luggage, looking up and down, clearly feeling umcomfortable in that place.  
Gilbert shared a mocking smile.  
"Ohi, dandy, is it too rustic for your taste?"  
"I've slept for years under the stars, it won't be a problem.", he replied, still a bit anxious.  
It was also true I did spent the last centuries in the richest villa that Europe could imagine, probably just Vatican City could have compared.  
Gilbert whistled, "You don't seem the type. Were you with a nice girl?"  
"None of your business."  
He replied automatically, without even thinking, and he immediately felt an idiot. He didn't mean to be rude, not at all.  
His stupid surly reserve.  
"Don't worry.", he cut shortly.  
Gilbert asked to the innkeeper for a room and for a dinner - "a good one" - then gave him a little bag of shiny coins. He added they would have consumed the supper in the room and ordered not to disturb them at any rate.  
Österreich felt trapped again, but decided to act naturally, until they was in the room. Certainly it was not a greatly valuable furniture: two messy sheaves with a "once surely white" blanket- next there were a pitcher with ome water and an iron bucket. He guessed the use of it, but would have preferred not to.  
Glbert seemed astonished, "What did I say? I promised you a good place!"  
Österreichfind difficulty in staying mute, but he decided not to make objections. He didn't want to offend Gilbert again, expecially because of a sense of gratitude. And a genuine curiosity.  
When the meal arrived, Gilbert start giggling like he haven't eaten since years: an horrifying bowl of bigos, a gluesome rye soup and, dulcis in fundo, two beers seemed like the best dinner he ever had. Österreich was really happy he didn't actually need to eat and offered him his portion, restricting himself to the malted drink.  
While Gilbert ruminated, Österreich kept watching the amber colour of the beer, wondering what to say.  
"Tell me, Roderich, why did you come here?"  
"I've already said. - he tried to be polite this time - I'm going to meet an old friend."  
Gilbert was not persuaded, "Yes, but why today, why on February. It's not the best month for a trip into the north."  
"I..."  
He swallowed.  
The dark forest whispered tangled creaks and whistlings.  
Suddenly, he missed his music. Because it would have been so much easier to describe his thoughts that way.  
"...I didn't want to stay at home."  
"You are in bad terms with someone?"  
"Not really. - he gave a sigh - I guess the problem is I am not really in any terms at all with anyone."  
Gilbert tried a sardonic smile, but it resulted weak and sad. And full of sympathy.  
"You seem a bit a know-it-all lordship."  
Österreich grumbled, "You don't seem mister Populariy neither."  
He drank the last spoon of the soup and cleaned his mouth with the sleeve.  
"I am not the type who ties bonds."  
Österreich laughed piercingly, "I am the type who destroys them."  
They exchanged a slow, strangely warm look. Soft violet and violent red.  
What do you get if you blend them?  
"...did you feel lonesome?"  
The same question Spain asked.  
He didn't know.  
He knew, but he didn't want to admit it.  
"I, - said Gilbert, without looking at him - I always feel like that."  
Österreich was surprised, wided his eyes. A thrill crossed his back.  
"Don't pity me! - he ordered - The point is I am too awesome for being close to somebody else."  
He finished the beer and then he sprawled,lying down, on the floor, with his hands behind the nape. His breathe was sluggish, lilting. He closed his eyes.  
Österreich felt horribly close to a point of no return.  
"Roderich... how is it? Vienna?"  
Österreich took a second, to find the exact words to use.  
"Full of music."  
"Even in the evening?"  
"Expecially during the evening."  
Gilbert raised an eyebrow, "How can you sleep with music?"  
"...silence is louder."  
The knight didn't reply. He just inhaled once more the icy air of the night and with an half -chewed goodnight fell in a deep, heavy sleep.  
Österreich didn't.

* * *

They left in the early morning, with the dawn shyly knocking at their window. The sun was still a newborn and a coy pink still dominated the valley. They left Österreich's horses in Krakow, then using just Schnee and the fastest of the austrian's Lipizzaner, they started to cross the woods, heading to Warsaw.  
Gilbert was pushing it too far, like he had to run after the wind.  
To Roderich seemed almost impossible it was already spring, with the snow lingering everywhere and a sun pale as a ghost. The cold blow of the air spit the snow in Österreich's face.  
"Can't we canter, instead of gallop like tornados?"  
"The little master does not appreciate hard games?"  
Österreich overtook Gilbert giving a few strokes with his spurs,he interscted his road, showing a statisfacted smile.  
"I don't like who make things to fast."  
Gilbert grinned, "You should value more the synthesis ability."  
He reached him. The two horses seemed both nervous and ready to run again, their docile attitude seemed vanished.  
Gilbert started to gallop again and Österreich had to follow him, trying his best to be faster. Not only the knight's behaviour was childlish but alsomade Österreich loose his self-control.  
He was stubbornly competitive. And somehow immature even if so self-consciuous.  
Österreich could only think that he never met someone like him.  
And he was sure it was not his human nature.  
Because even the human he saw were not like him.  
He was seemed to... no, it was stupid to think. It was stupid to feel.  
"Roderich..."  
"Mh?"  
He smiled, "You didn't reply last time."  
"At which question?"  
Gilbert seemed to blush, but Österreich found it hard to believe.  
"Nevermind. - he shouted - We'll ride until MEZZODI, DOPODICHE' we'll have a little break."  
Österreich didn't understand and felt a bitter, sharp, dagger into the stomach. What was that? What was there in that strange, undescribable, INSPIEGABILE, head?  
"Gilbert. - he called - Wouldn't your boss be ARRABBIATO, if you lose your time with me instead of working?"  
He stopped, holding strongly the reins, and so did the brunette, a bit scared because caught off guard by the sudden, violent movement.  
"I wouldn't say this time is lost, by any chance."  
Again, the dagger into his stomach.  
No, wait, it was a spoon. A spoon ripped out his organs from his body, throwing them in the cold snow.  
He felt hollow.  
He felt empty. But, for the first time, not in a bad way.  
He felt like the sound box of a musical instrument, that amplifies the sound, creating the melody.  
Gilbert's voice sounded suddenly a bit more raucous, maybe for the embarassment. He averted his gaze and then started to look at the ground, like he was wondering what to do.  
Österreich didn't reply, he didn't know how to.  
"Follow me. - Gilbert saved him from the silence - Lordship."  
"You should really don't get used to call me like that..."  
"Stop me."  
It was not possible. And he knew it.  
Gilbert didn't seem a person you can control.  
As the hooves hurt the the hard, thick blanket of snow, Österreich started to think- about how long his rest loss was, how long he had a strange tension running in the veins and wondered... since when the music was always so sad?  
Did he ever play something serene?  
Since the day he felt Schweiz running away, far from his hands, Österreich never had a day of fullness. He did realize that there was not even one single day he could have said "I'm happy". He knew he was sad, he knew something was missing, he knew everything, but, suddenly a bitter, strong, persistent taste invaded all his brain.  
He never imagined his emptyness was so deep-rooted.  
Entrenched.  
Spain was probably the person who better knew him, did he even realize? Did he even saw a dark light in his eyes?  
Did he find him pathetic?  
Was that the reason he loved Romano instead of him?  
Gilbert looked at him, "Lordship, are you allright?"  
No, he wasn't.  
Gilbert came closer, "Roderich?", he called.  
Roderich, he said.  
Who was Roderich?  
He was Österreich. That was his name.  
The name that he choosed for him... but where was now Schweiz?  
He left him alone. He left him behind.  
Did still make sense to keep that name?  
Couldn't he be just Roderich? Just for a while...  
May he be just for a while not one of the most powerful empires of Europe and just- just-  
"Do you know a place where I can play music, Gilbert?"  
Just Roderich.  
For a little time.  
Gilbert nodded, quietly, probably because he didn't have words for that strange behaviour, and headed to the deep woods, crossing the trees, abandoning the pathway. Österreich followed him, without a question. The hooves squeaked, on the ice, on the rocks, the wind seemed to be quieter and firmer the light, but about that Roderich was not sure if iit was reality or just suggestion.  
They arrived in a clearing, arid, lived by sad stones and an abandoned country church, that emaneted a prickly smell of musk and burned wood. Gilbert was still on the horse, while Österreich got off and started to look around.  
It took him a while to understand he had to enter in the small church; when he opened the heavy wooden door, with a creepy creak, and entered it, Gilbert followed by foot.  
Everything inside was so old that Österreich found it hard to believe once it was really used by someone. The walls were hurt by cruel ivy, that tightened up on every brick. The glass windows were all almost broken and he found himself walking on a carpet of red flames and blue Madonnas. The iron was folded up, it almost seemed bars.  
Or ribs of a big, black, skeleton.  
Österreich let his eyes walking the place, with an unexplicable anxiety and a stranger pressure on his veins, right in the chest.  
A transparent, crystalline, light was shining, across the abre windows, dressing the poor left metals and the chiseled capitals with a new dress. The Presbytery seemed a raw art cemetery: candelabras, remaining altar, burned ikons. And an unberable wax and rotten stench.  
And, in a corner, a blanket, some food and some old manuscript codices.  
Österreich turned to Gilbert.  
"Do you live here, don't you?"  
"Sometimes. - he quietly replied - I travel a lot and I need some places to sleep."  
"I see."  
Österreich walked forward, until a big Organ, with his longs pipes, looking alike a whole noble, golden forest, drew his attention.  
He sat and he found his hands almost trembling.  
The acousting wouldn't be perfect, probably the sound would have resulted hard, sick, and surely he didn't have any sheet with him. But he didn't care.  
Gilbert shut up and sat on rubble and wreckage. Looking at him.  
Something so sad it was hardly to describe with words came out from those fingers, submerged him.  
And, maybe for the first time, Gilber Beilschmidt felt a bridge from him to somebody else.  
But he also felt it was not meant to last.  
Those kind of things - the precious ones - were the ones he was specialized in breaking.

* * *

Spain gave a deep sigh.  
Holy Roman returned from the battle that morning and the little Italia was utterly happy about it. Not the same Romano, who was always yelling at the german kid to keep his hands off from "his" Italia.  
"His".  
Funny, isn't it?  
Spain smiled quietly, looking at those children, innocent like human ones. He felt the strong sensation of being somehow a guard dog, but he didn't really mind, because all his concern was for Österreich.  
The rain was falling, producing quiet cracks on the emerald Austrian grass. The clouds of a shy spring coming and the outline of a warmer weather gave to Spain a strange sort of comfort.  
He never forgot the past.  
He never forgot that night, the wedding one, when Österreich called Schweiz.  
Not that he felt hurt, no, neither disappointed. The nature of that feeling was completely different: it was compassion.  
He knew how Österreich felt.  
He knew how deep the cut was.  
He didn't was a great husband, but he was a good lover and, why not?, a perfect and powerful economic shoulder to rely on. A contract, a good one, but not a love.  
The Love... they always preserved it for someone else.  
Österreich for the past and Spain... he raised his eyes and looked again at the kids. Spain for the future.  
Yes, maybe it was strange, but he felt something for Romano.  
Always did.  
But, and there another sigh, surely it was impossible to say he loved him in that exact moment, becase he was a child. But that happenend: Spain caught a glimpse of his soul.  
A soul of fire and sea.  
A soul so pure and dark.  
Spain couldn't love anything else no more, because what he saw was the most beautiful thing ever. And it was worth-waiting.  
Centuries and centuries. He didn't care.  
He shivered - oh, but, Österreich! Österreich. Oh, yes, would have been able to... again? He never understood him completely and probably that was a problem, because he was not sure how much of his coldness was provoked by a scar, how much from natural introversion and how much the music was a cure and how much a curse.  
Maybe they were just... different?  
Even thought he had to admit that Schweiz and Romano was quite similar: two stubborn behaviours, two ensecure hearts, two pair of eyes full of an undisclosed desire of love.  
- and two minds that refused to see how much love was in front of their eyes.  
"Everybody here is waiting for you to come back. - he whispered at the window, with the breeze ready to take his entreaty to the addressee - The house is really silent without you and  
your music."  
Veneziano came near him, calling him with a sweet chirping.  
"Sir Spain, when will Sir Austria return?"  
Spain smiled, "Do you call him in your language, Italy? He will get angry."  
Italy blinked, "No, well... only Sir Spain call him 'Österreich', a part from..."  
"... Switzerland?"  
"...yes."  
Spain held the child on his lap, caressing the soft chestnut hair. Italy laughed.  
"Do you love Sir Austria? Even if he's your boss?"  
"A lot! - the kid shouted, cheerfully - Even if sometimes he scares me... - admitted - ...because if somebody never smiles, maybe he's angry... but maybe it's sad."  
"Oh! - he smiled - And how you cure sadness?"  
Italy seemed to think, drumming his finger on his mouth.  
Then he raised his big, strangely open, bright amber eyes.  
"With an hug!"  
Spain laughed, "Exactly. - he hug the kid - You're so cute, Italy!"  
"Beh, grazie!"  
"Keep your hands off of my brother, you tomato bastard!"  
...well, maybe, the mansion was not exactly 'silent'.

_The scar, then the light, _  
_it burns and it suits you._  
_Everything is a game, everything is empty._  
_Everybody into the fire._  
- Xverso, Tiziano Ferro


	4. Chapter 4

**4. Now it's two broken bottles and four empty hearts**

Österreich opened his eyes, slowly.  
The impertinent newborn sunlight glided on his eyelids, inviting them to open. When he did, everything seeemed white, so white- he almost forgot he was not in Vienna until his look found Gilbert, still sleeping, next to him, in the cold ruins of the abandoned church.  
Oh, yes, he was travelling.  
Travelling with...  
Oh bloody hell, whate the hell was he doing? Was he making a pass at an human?  
"Oh, my god, I must be really desperate.", he whispered with a face palm.  
"Why?"  
Österreich started with fright and sprung up, turning to Gilbert, "Are you awake?"  
Gilbert's eyes were closed but he wasn't sleeping. He gave to Österreich one of his mocking smiles, "I don't usually speaks when I sleep."  
"That's not something I'm supposed to know.", pointed out, embarassed.  
Gilbert opened the right eye, the closer one to the Austrian brunette, and asked "What's so wrong about you?"  
"...I feel like I'm acting irrationally."  
"And?"  
" 'And' ?", he repeated, annoyed.  
Gilbert closed his eyes again, "What's the problem in behaving the way you feel like? Until you don't hurt anybody else, and, to be true, you seem really quite too weak to, I think it's fine..."  
His voice seemed warm.  
Not hot, not burning. Just warm.  
And his lips soft.  
Österreich tried to make those thoughts go away, shaking his head.  
"I don't like things I can't control.", he stated, simply.  
"But if the first slave of your control is you, what do you earn from your power?"  
A good question Österreich had no a good answer for.  
Checkmate.  
The king is dead.  
Long life to the king.  
Maybe Österreich could have died, maybe he would be able to reborn as Roderich.  
Roderich started searching something around him, mostly to stop thinking about that human, they should have been somewhere... Oh, was really... really. That was a problem.  
"I played the organon all the day long and then we fall asleep. - he sighed - I guess I've made you lost one day of march."  
"Don't worry. - replied Gilbert - What are you searching?"  
"My glasses..."  
He found and wore them, but before he turned the knight's voice reached him.  
"It's a misfortune you have to wear them."  
"Mh?"  
"Your eyes are a smashing colour."  
He skipped an heartbeat.  
"Oh. - he faked - Really? Well, I think my face is quite plain without them."  
"You are not a lady, why do you care?"  
Roderich frowned, "It's not like I-"  
As he turned, he found Gilber, with his mouth slightly open, just behind him. He felt the albino's hand holding his shoulders and then his lips catching him.  
He wided his eyes for a moment.  
But, then, he simply closed them.  
Gilbert didn't seem confident in what to do, so, after some seconds, he simply separated and lowered his head.  
He muttered something about a joke, but Österreich wasn't listening him.  
He bussed Gilbert back.  
Putting in that kiss all the hope he had of exiting his centuries of penumbra.  
He wasn't even sure it was possible to kiss an human like he did with a nation, it felt different, though he was not sure if it was because of the different nature of their bodies or because he was Gilbert.  
Spain was always so passionate, so confident.  
Gilbert felt so hestant.  
But warm. Warmer than Spain. Warmer than everything he ever felt.  
He was pale as snow, sharp as ice and yet warm as fire. A strange creature, Gilbert Beilschmidt.  
When the line between a deep kiss and something more was close to be trapassed, Österreich stopped and had to labour to breathe normally again.  
Gilbert swallowed, looking him.  
The Austrian nation felt like he should have said something, but he was not sure what to say; to insinst, to confirm would have meant maybe to see him escape- but he didn't felt like denying. He didn't regret this at all, even if probably he was going against some unwrittern laws about Nations' behaviour.  
Gilbert started to say something.  
"You... - he swallowed again - ...you are pretty good in..."  
"Osculating?"  
The knight became nervous and said, with a pompous tone, "Not that it was my first time, I mean..."  
Österreich raised an eyebrow.  
"It was?"  
"I said it wasn't!"  
"...it would be allright, you are quite young. How many years are you?"  
Gilbert seemed to think about it, Österreich noticed he just moved his eyes to the upper right: he was going to tell a lie.  
But didn't Österreich do the same?  
"Sixteen."  
He smiled, "Well, I am older than you."  
Gilbert asked, with an unexplainably provoking pitch, "How old are you, Roderich?"  
He was close to answer.  
His voice throat trembled lightly, his Adam's apple felt constricted, like the lungs becamed suddenly too tight. He felt his voice trying to come out.  
Gilbert gave a sigh and bent over him, whispering.  
"I don't care."  
Österreich felt only Gilbert's lips and, then, a music inside his head, spreading a cloak of sweetness above every burn he had on the soul.  
A dim din made him shiver.  
No green in his mind.

* * *

Romano gave a timorous look at the little Veneziano, sleeping at the fet of a chair. Holy Roman was watching her too, pretending to play the Spinet but completely unable to stop staring at that soft, sweet girl.  
He loved Veneziano. Deeply.  
Österreich always knew.  
"If you decide go be with someone, you have to take responsabilities for her serenity. You must be sure to protect her... - he said once - ...even from yourself, if it's necessary."  
Initially, Holy Roman was not sure he understood.  
Also, it was such a sad speech, he hoped he would hvae been never able to really get it.  
But he did.  
Another battle, another hard and terrible battle.  
He wanted to protect her, but he didn't felt able to.  
Formally, Österreich was just one of his dominions, but in reality he was the only one who was able to rule that potentially self-destructive cluster of states that Holy Roman represented. Often he felt like a ghost, even wondering if he actually exists.  
Somehow, only little Italy was the confirmation of his existence.  
Because he felt it: that feeling growing in his chest.  
And that hungry, eager emotion he felt was burning him too deeply for being a mere illusion.  
In was a pain.  
And every pain is the proof we have a body and a soul.  
Ghost can't feel anything.  
Little Italy made him alive.  
There was no one else he would have wanted next to me, no space for anybody else in his heart. And, still, it was impossible to have her.  
Still, he was not even able to really be close to that kind, delicate creature.  
The italian sun used to shine on her white apron, making her seem a small diamond - no, no - a flower, a white, beautiful lily in the valley.  
Her voice was pure, like the wind, flying beneath the sky, painting with sounds the harmonious vitality of her whole land.  
She was full of fear and, anyway, she refused to became one with him.  
She was an unicum.  
She was not a queen, a queen has a king.  
She was a goddess. She was the Nike: free even when belongs to someone, she was the Light, and not even Shadow would exists without her.  
Holy Roman stopped playing and went closer to her.  
Romano was looking him with a grim, raw glare.  
"Don't touch Venezia.", he hissed, grinding his teeth.  
Holy Roman quivered, but continued, touching the silken chestnut hair with his hand. Italy let outa suffused murmur, like purrs, and the germanic nation continued caressing her.  
Romano was about to stop him, when Spain opened the door.  
"Holy!"  
"Uh?"  
Veneziano woke up too, looking around in search of the source of the noise and blushing when he saw the hand of Holy Roman so close to his head.  
"Österreich!"  
"What happened?"  
"Poland still didn't see him! - he gasped, coming close - At this rate, he should already be at his court, how can it be?"  
"...maybe he stopped to rest?"  
"No way, he never do things like that. He hates so much to be away from his house, he would hate to stay somewhere dirty resting instead of in a castle and then returning here as soon as possible."  
Romano seemed hurt.  
"Well, you know your husband very well, Spaniard."  
He tried to reply, but Holy Roman was quicker, shouting.  
"So where can he be? He can't be killed, right?"  
"That would be impossible... - he whispered - But maybe he's somewhere imprisoned."  
"Couldn't he be just hiding?"  
Everybody turned to Italy.  
The little nation let the gown flutter, like a little white and green bell, as on the face a strange, shy expression appeared.  
"Mister Austria sometimes retires to his chamber in order to rest from things, or maybe just to play music without being disturbed. - he whispered - Maybe... maybe he's doing the same thing right now."  
"So you think we shouldn't worry?", asked Spain.  
Italy nodded.  
Then looked at Holy Roman and continued, "Mister Austria wouldn't let anyone take over him, because he has us to return to. And he doesn't want to let anyone feel alone."  
"...and how do you know all these things?"  
"When Holy Roman Empire is away, Mister Austria... - a light blush - Take me to big brother's house, so I am not alone, and now he called you here to look after us... and he left big brother with you, Spain, so that you too wouldn't be alone."  
Romano raised an eyebrow, "You tend to overrate that musical sassy princess."  
"I am not! Cattivo!"  
"Cattivo! Come osi dire che sono cattivo, piccola peste?!"  
Spain looked confused to the italian brothers, "Hey hey, I can't follow your words."  
Holy Roman translated quietly "Italia said Romano is bad and he replied 'how dare you to say I am bad, little brat?' ...circa."  
Spain blinked, "You know very well Italian, I didn't think."  
The kid seemed embarassed and lowered his bright eyes of the colour of the limpid sky.  
"...it's just a duty as emperor."  
Spain smiled.  
"Oh, sure. - he ruffled a little the blonde hair - Österreich should avoid attaching you his bad habits."  
"Bad habits?"  
He winked, "Lies are not a good thing, Holy."  
Romano came closer to Spain, annoyed by seeing him touching the Empire's head, "Ohi, useless conquistador, what's your plan?"  
"We will wait for news from Poland a little more... if he won't be with Österreich in a week, I will go to search him."  
"...what? - the kids shouted together - But it's dangerous!"  
Holy Roman insisted, "And you wouldn't be able to look for all the land!"  
"Besides. - Romano added - Would you really leave us here alone?"  
"If it will reveal itself necessary... Holy is responsible and Italy is a good girl. You... mh... I will rope you to a chair."  
"It's not funny, bastard!"  
"But I wouldn't be able to abandon Österreich. - he claimed - Even if he doesn't consider me as one, he's a friend to me. And Spanish people never leave their friends' sides."  
"That sounds so brave, Mister Spain!"  
"...that sounds stupid, Spaniard."

* * *

Österreich felt nailed as Gilbert lowered his body, coming close. He was shivering.  
"Are you cold?"  
They stopped in the first guesthouse they found on the path, by tacit agreement with the only intent of finding a bed. Neither of them wanted to have that feeling of longing lingering on their chest.  
Österreich moved his hands, touching Gilbert's chest and then his back.  
"Maybe this room is not enough warm. - he murmured - You seem a leaf in the wind."  
"I'm not cold.", Gilbert whispered.  
He made a move, trying to exit from the bed, "I'll go to ask the innkeeper if they have something for..."  
"I'm not cold!", shouted the albino.  
Österreich frowned, "You are trembling... - he realized - Oh. Oh."  
" 'Oh' my arse!"  
"I didn't think it was... I mean, so embarassing for you."  
"I am not embarassed."  
"You are even worse than me in telling lies. - he noticed - I swear I was not sure it was possible. You keep surprising me."  
"I am trying to having sex with you, can you shut the fuck up?"  
Österreich almost laughed.  
"...you are completely red in the face."  
Gilbert hold Österreich's wrists in one of his hands and clenched them. He came close with his face to the other man's one.  
"Don't provoke me, princess."  
Österreich smirked and bit his lower lip.  
"Mh. - he wided his eyebrows - Maybe you just need some warming-up..."  
Said that, he glided under Gilbert's body, getting free for his hold, and reached his lower half.  
"Wh...what are you doing here?"  
"Don't be so virginal, Gilbert, that would turn me a little off."  
The german knight swallowed a moan, when he felt something warm, wet, enshroud and envelop his intimacy. A burning, incendiary pleasure crossed his body.  
"Ro... Roder..."  
The little, smooth tongue of the musician seemed to play with him like an instrument, or an easy toy. Gilbert felt so elementary, transparent and... almost fragile, under that expert touch.  
His skin was so tempting, his scent so intoxicating.  
Österreich was going to drive him crazy.  
Gilbert throttled another thrill.  
His whole skin was shuddering and all his veins were on fire.  
He tried to skip moans, to impose himself a normal breath, but the only thing his body kept doing was feeling. Feeling too much, feeling too strongly.  
An intense, deep, heat.  
He gave a roar, as Österreich engulfed him whole and Gilbert was sure his loins were yielding, surrendering, to those ravenous, greedy mouth. He started to move furiously, catching even more pleasure when he heard a moan from the brunette under him.  
Österreich's voice was a delicious blend of rapture and strain.  
"Roder...", he almost shouted.  
And started pressing, wildly in the mouth between his thights.  
The pianist's hands seized Gilbert's buttocks and pulled them closer to his devouring lips.  
The knight bent his neck backwards, with a thick, deep yell.  
He came and saw his "Roderich" cleaning his lips with that malicious, mellow tongue. Gilbert didn't resist the urge to bend over him and catching those mouth in his own, invading it, like he had to brand him.  
"You belong to me."  
"Don't you think you are a little too hasty?", Österreich asked.  
Gilbert looked him straight in the eyes.  
Red and Purple. Blood and wisteria.  
"No."  
Simple, clean. Direct.  
Österreich lapsed into his warm arms.  
In the distance, the quiet sound of poruing rain started to drum on the earth, predicting the melt of the snow and the coming of the Spring. Österreich let his fingers running towards Gilbert's body, as the mind sketched the utopia of an impending happiness.  
A Dreams carry with themself Fear.  
"I don't mind belonging to somebody. - he confessed - But I don't want to belong to somebody who doesn't belong to me, not anymore."  
His puple eyes dazed.  
"I wouldn't be able to take it again.", he owned up.  
Gilbert held him so tiightly and firmer that it was almost painful and rough.  
"Did they never say to you is very unpolite to talk about past lovers in bed?", he whispered on the edge of Österreich's mouth.  
The Austrian cracked a smile.  
"I guess it's the first time I don't think about them, by the way."  
"That's handy to know..."  
"So... you do belong to me, right?"  
Gilbert licked Österreich's white and soft neck, reaching his Adam's apple and sucking it, sipping the rustles running on his skin, while a torbid moan reched the ceiling.  
He sank his teeth in the tender flesh.  
In his meal.  
Seeing the brune foreigner rubbling himself against him sparked in Gilbert a morbid, unhealthy unsatiable hunger. He wanted him.  
More than anything he ever wanted in his whole existence.  
More than freedom.  
That longing was sick.  
Gilbert took his leather rucksack and took a small bottle of dark oil.  
"...not exactly lap of luxury, but..."  
"I am sure I will be able to deal with it.", he cut it short, holding Gilbert and tasting his lips.  
He splaied Roderich's legs and tried to soften up the small, tight entrance. First he slightly licked it, eating the softness of the inner sides of his bottom,then trying to slid in it.  
Österreich screamed in pleasure, gripping the filthy sheet.  
Gilbert made him turn with his stomach down, then proceeded nserting one wet finger in the hole, while keeping kissing the greedy skin of the Austrian man.  
Österreich skip a little too many breathes, while shaking and shivering because of pleasure.  
"Are you ready for one more?"  
"Don't underrate me, Gilbert of Poland."  
He wouldn't be able to say if it was anger the feeling that rushed in his veins, when he violently pushed into a second finger and then his member without notice.  
Österreich gasped, panted.  
He shouted.  
He was able to felt all Gilbert inside him.  
The Prussian knight seemed suddenly timorous, "And...?"  
"Move."  
"But..."  
"Jesus Christ, Gilbert, move."  
"Ask, and it shall be given you."  
Gilbert was sinking more at every thrust, so that Österreich felt like he was shoving his lungs down his throat. His flesh was tight, as if he was attempting to hold him back, but every movement was a deep thrill in the spine, spinning his whole cognizance around, fucking his mind more than his body.  
Österreich felt Gilbert's hand near his nape and then the strong hand pulled his hair back, while he thrust keenly, sharply, roughly.  
Österreich gritted his teeth, suffocating screams.  
Gilbert took his alredy taut rod in the hand and kept riding him.  
"Roderich...", he called, with a frenzied strian in the voice.  
Österreich's knucles bleached, holding the sheet, as bleach was his head, completely blurry and shattered.  
He was so close.  
He was so close.  
The heat was almost killing him.  
"...drich... - he heard the grunt, while Gilbert held him even closer - Mine."  
Gilbert stabbed him, with a last, brutally overwhelming moving.  
"Roderich" felt a last electric shock running down his nerves and then, with a liberating gasp, he came too.  
He felt overturned.  
In a good way.  
In the best way.  
"Yours.", he whispered.  
No green in his mind. Only red.


End file.
